


Putting A Ring On It: The Journal of Aveline Vallen

by Maybethings



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Dragon Age Holiday Cheer, F/M, Gallery of Rogues, Gift Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-14
Updated: 2012-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-02 03:28:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maybethings/pseuds/Maybethings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tale of how Aveline Vallen and Donnic Hendyr eventually got married…with a little encouragement from friends. Part of the Dragon Age Valentines exchange on Tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Putting A Ring On It: The Journal of Aveline Vallen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bellisadinosaur](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Bellisadinosaur).



_4 Guardian 9:35_

_Docks patrol today with Donnic. Evet’s Marauders still running strong, despite our best efforts (and Hawke’s). Caught two. Four killed before I_ — _we could stop Hawke._

_Still no Evet._

_Overall, a productive day. Thankfully, Donnic’s suffered no lasting effects from Jeven’s plot. And those shoulders!_

* * *

“Big girl, you’ve got that _smile_ again. Thinking of Donnic’s broad shoulders? His manly physique?”

“His magnificent sword?” Varric quipped.

“Ooh, his masculine thrusts?”

“Shut up, both of you,” Aveline said absently, though her smile didn’t fade. Donnic certainly had some very nice shoulders. And a strong back. He certainly wouldn’t win any prizes for his face, but he had a rugged, earnest air to him that wasn’t hard to like at all.

“Well, nice to see you’re getting along,” Shey Hawke said, ferociously knocking back the last of her drink. “If he does you wrong, I’ll deck him.”

“No need for that, Hawke. We’re doing fine.”

“It must be nice,” Merrill said, staring warmly up at the guardswoman. “He sounds nice.”

“He’s very nice. And it’s good to have company again after all this time.” Aveline leaned back from the table and tipped her glass at all of them. “I owe you for that one.”

“So!” the elf said brightly as she spun her glass between her hands, making her pale beverage froth gently against itself. “When are you two getting married?”

Corff very nearly had a death by choking on his hands that night.

* * *

_5 Guardian 9:35_

_Infuriating, these friends of mine. “So when are you two getting married?” Merrill asked me at the Hanged Man tonight. I nearly breathed in half a mug of ale. Not pleasant._

_“It’s not that easy,” I sputtered. Or something like that. She means well, but there’s so much she still has to learn. And so much I can’t explain in words._

_“Of course it is!” Isabela said, banging her mug down. “If he likes it, he should certainly put a ring on it.” And then she and Varric looked at each other in a way I’m all too familiar with._

_“Whatever it is, the answer is no,” I cut them off. Still. Thinking about it._

_Headed to the Wounded Coast tomorrow. Taking the new ones out and testing them. Expecting routine patrol._

* * *

_10 Guardian 9:35_

_Patrol anything but routine. Ambush. Writing from barracks. Slowly. With left arm. Can barely feel right side. Zara not so lucky. Poor girl. She had promise._

_A Blight on Evet! He’ll pay, or I’ll eat Wesl_

Aveline’s concentration was interrupted by the commotion beyond her door. She canted her head towards the noise; it only reminded her that she had dressings wound from neck to shoulder. Tightly. Jags of pain shot through her torso; there had been a reason the healer hadn’t even allowed her to sit up until today. Familiar, heavy footsteps drew closer. The door flew back on its hinges with a crash. Donnic stood with arms braced on the doorframe, fresh from a patrol and with eyes wild.

“Aveline!” he began, and checked himself when he felt the eyes of some of the newer recruits on his back. “Captain.” Even as he closed the door, pushing it shut with armoured fingertips, he was striding toward her, the word as soft as a sigh. She slid her leather-bound journal under the blankets as he pulled up a chair beside her bed and embraced her.

“Ow. Ow. Donnic, bandages,” she choked out against the curve of his ear, tapping her free hand against his armour. He loosened his grip, but only just.

“ _Maker_. I was so worried.” He touched his lips to her forehead and breathed. She smelled of elfroot, spirits and linen. “You were out for days.”

“Well, I’m fine now.” She tried to smile, the effort pulling at a not-quite-healed wound on her jaw. More quietly, she added, “It’s good to see you too.”

“Oh, you don’t know the half of it!” He laughed, equal portions of relief and joy, and broke the embrace to look her over. She really didn’t look that bad now, now that she was upright and bandaged and…not covered in blood. “I—I’m glad. I don’t quite know what I’d have done if they’d…” His brow furrowed, his gaze clouding over. “Well, I’m glad they didn’t. I really am, Aveline.”

A knock on the door interrupted them both. “Donnic!” Brennan’s peevish voice echoed behind the wood. “Patrol in five! Get your gear together!”

“Go,” she said, patting him on the arm. “It’s not like I’m wandering off anywhere.”

“Sometimes, I wonder. But I’ll be back after patrol tonight.”

“It’s a date, then.” She cringed inwardly. Maker help her, that was the height of terrible. After all this while, she could still plant her foot in her mouth around him. He didn’t seem to mind.

“It’s a date,” Donnic repeated, and gave her a courtly bow before turning to go. In the armour, it looked more ridiculous than anything, and Aveline smiled her widest smile in weeks, the ache in her jaw be damned. She waited until his footsteps, and Brennan’s, had faded away before she fumbled her journal back out into the open. The quill squashed inside had left a huge drip of ink all the way down the page, blotting out her large, even hand. She’d have to get more ink soon. And maybe a new quill.

— _Had to stop for a bit. Donnic came to see how I was. Heart has not beat that hard for long time. Maybe not since Wesley._

_Don’t know if he’s ready. Don’t know if I’m ready._

_Going to take a nap. Starting to not feel left arm, either._

* * *

“You can’t be serious about this!” Donnic slammed a copy of the new roster onto Aveline’s table, his eyes bright with anger. She remained steadfast, stiffening her back within her armour—not difficult, considering how many bandages still bound her.

“I am. I’ve told you this before. I don’t fool around when it comes to the guards.”

“But patrol on the Wounded Coast _every day_? After what happened?!” He shook his head despairingly. “Aveline, you can’t push yourself like this! It’s not right.”

“Says who?”

“Says me! If that even means anything.” His voice bore a sour edge that made her bristle with pure Fereldan fury. He _doubted_? Even now?

“I will _not_ be pushed on this, Donnic. We all have our duties.” She thumped her gauntlet against her chest. “This is mine.”

“Surely someone else can handle this in your place—”

“Are you implying that I am not fit to return to duty, Guardsman?”

“I—no.” He exhaled and pushed away from her desk, words flat and dead, and resumed a textbook at-rest stance. “No, _Captain_.”

“This will be my last word on the matter. Dismissed.” Donnic gave her a long, hard look. She returned it unflinchingly. He left, turning on his heel with a short, sharp breath and a shadow over his brow, narrowly missing Isabela as she squeezed past.

“Trouble, big girl?” she asked, quirking one glorious arch of an eyebrow.

Aveline winced as she looked daggers at the back of Donnic’s head, nostrils flaring slightly. “Just whatever you brought in with you.”

* * *

_15 Guardian 9:35_

_Getting better. Tomorrow, back on patrol. Wounded Coast again. Argued with Donnic about it. But I am still Captain of the Guard, and I will not put anyone untested on that route until it is completely clear. May have to ask Hawke for assistance. Evet can keep the Arishok company, when she’s done with him._

_…Terrible to think about. As if Hawke isn’t trying to turn Kirkwall upside down already._

_Today Isabela arrived. Oddly, it is good to see her. She’s been keeping out of trouble._

_“Because it’s just no fun getting clapped in chains when you’re not there, big girl,” she chuckled. Ha, ha._

* * *

“You were looking for me, Guard Captain?” Shey said, tromping into the guard-captain’s office.

“Shut the door behind you. And latch it,” she replied shortly without looking up from her work.

“Huh. You don’t usually bother.” She knit her brow, but complied. “What’s going on, exactly?”

“I’m going to need your help on something.” Aveline rose to her feet as the Champion approached, gesturing at a map of the Wounded Coast spread out on her table and dotted with pins of all colours. “I’ve just received word from good sources: Evet’s Marauders are planning a caravan raid. A massive one. They’re targeting this whole area, here.” She marked out a triangle with more pins as Shey scanned the whole map, eyes darting from point to point. “Messages have been sent ahead, and there are double patrols now along the route. But it’ll be too late to reach some of the others. It’s either take them out when they jump the caravans…or sniff them out in their lairs before that.”

“So I’ve got leave to beat the piss out of these bastards if we find them.”

“If that’s how you want to put it.”

“Oh, we’ll find them, all right.” The rogue cracked her knuckles as a determined, bloodthirsty grin split her face. “I almost lost my best shield-arm to those bastards. We both have a score to settle. Is that all?”

“That’s all. And don’t try to take them on without me. The Marauders will be brought to justice. _Properly._ ”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Shey replaced a dislodged pin with a quick, clean stab, lingering as if in thought. “Hey. I haven’t seen you and Donnic on patrol together all week. You two all right?”

“We’re _fine_ , Hawke,” Aveline countered—but the brief, tense pause that preceded it didn’t go unnoticed.

* * *

_20 Guardian 9:35_

_Wounded Coast and Lowtown patrols today. Not sure if I should write this. I think I won’t. Just in case. Word has been sent to a number of merchant caravans, but they won’t reach all of them at this rate._

_Claimed that favour from Hawke. At least now she’s Champion and not a random Fereldan from Lowtown, they’re aware of her methods. As well as mine._

_Have not seen Donnic, not since the argument. But I swear if Isabela mentions basins and bending over one more time, I’ll clock her in the face._

_…I really miss him._

* * *

“You know,” said Isabela, eyes sliding from comrade to comrade at their beer-stained table, “I heard the most _interesting_ thing today.”

“Do tell, Rivaini,” Varric urged her on, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. Or maybe it was the alcohol.

The swashbuckler’s voice dropped to her most secretive, seductive purr. “In Kirkwall, every five years, on the last day of Guardian, any woman can propose marriage to a man. Helps things along, if the boy’s been indecisive up ‘till then. And guess what, this is one of those years. Lovely custom, isn’t it?”

“Stupid, but lovely. In a stupid way,” snorted Shey into her tumbler.

“And why are you looking at me while saying that?” Aveline took another swig of her drink, glaring at Isabela sharply.

“Big girl, let’s face it. You and Donnic are together, but you need to be _together_ together. He’s good for you. If I see you two making those big sad eyes at each other across the town square again, I might just throw up on my boots. And I like these boots.”

“If he’s so great, _you_ marry him.”

“Not my thing,” Isabela said soberly. “But you? Maybe it might be yours. Seize this chance, sweet thing. You might not get another like it for five years.”

“Maybe more!” Shey’s grin showed far too many teeth to be comfortable.

Aveline thumbed the chipped rim of her cup thoughtfully. “I’ll think about it,” she muttered, but changed the subject as soon as she was able.

* * *

_22 Guardian 9:35_

_Wounded Coast patrol today. Docks patrol again tomorrow. Lem has been dipping into the crates again. I don’t think he works alone. Bet he’s in cahoots with that shady elf._

_Hanged Man night. Isabela mentioned an interesting Kirkwallian custom. Women propose on the last day of Guardian. I’ve asked some of the guards, and they’ve confirmed it. So it wasn’t just Isabela and Varric trying to have one over on me, then._

_I’ll do it. I…we deserve to be happy. And I need to try._

_But flames. Flames! I’ve only got a week! No more copper marigolds. I will do this right._

* * *

“You’re looking for a ring. Really.”

“Don’t make me ask you twice, Varric.” It shouldn’t be this embarrassing. Really, it shouldn’t. She liked the cut and heft of dwarven jewellery. Varric had dwarven contacts. It was only _logical_ she would go to him.

…Despite all that, she could feel the heat in her cheeks, and from the widening grin on the dwarf’s face, she suspected she was also going as red as Corff’s special.

“Oh, I won’t, don’t worry—but I should have recorded that moment for posterity,” he chuckled, shuffling through a few beer-smudged pieces of paper scattered across his table. “Any requests on style? Some marigolds, maybe?”

“ _Varric_. _”_

“All right, all right, no marigolds then. And a stone?”

“There are different kinds?” she asked with a bemused grimace.

Varric looked up at her with a long, slow, pitying gaze. “I might as well ask you if there are different kinds of trees. Look, tell you what. I’ll find you samples. Come back in three—no, make it two days, and we’ll talk again. I may have just the thing. And for you? A hefty Tethras discount.”

“I’ll pay you what it’s worth, and not a copper less.”

“No you won’t,” he countered, “because this will be my gift to you. And Donnic,” he added after some thought. But there was something in the twinkle of his eye that made Aveline pause.

“…No putting this into that, what’s it called, _Hard in Hightown_.”

“Spoilsport,” Varric grumbled. “ _Now_ you’re paying full price.”

* * *

_25 Guardian 9:35_

_Day off. Roped in Varric for advice on a ring. He said he would find one_ —but _the way his quill-hand kept twitching!_

_If he puts this, any of this, into one of his serials, I don’t care if he dredges the Rings of Dawn and Dusk from the ages themselves. I’ll wring his neck._

* * *

They picked their way across the rocks and sand, doing their best to stay quiet and downwind. Aveline peeked over an outcrop and silently beckoned Shey and the others forward. Squashed together in the shadow of a bunch of rocks, the four surveyed the vista below them.

The cavern had once been an old Tal-Vashoth base—and its reputation kept others far away. But now it was brimming with Marauders, all skulking around the area, shifting crates and passing around maps.

 _Antivan,_ Isabela mouthed, pointing her chin at some sacks marked with a series of purple chevrons.

“We should finish them all off now,” Shey growled in a voice that said things were going to get stabbed repeatedly.

“Not here, and not now. I won’t have you all shot full of arrows and who knows what besides. One of the caravans they took had poison in the shipments. We’ll come back with a team during the early watch. They won’t know what hit them.”

“I don’t know about that. Your fist is very distinctive, Aveline,” mused Varric.

“It’ll also be the last thing they feel before we drag them into the Keep,” she grumbled. Already she was putting together a roster of names: proper guards, bound by proper laws and not just the trappings of fame and infamy.

She’d have to ask Donnic to come along, Aveline thought to herself as she backed away from the scene, a tiny leather pouch at her hip briefly weighing heavier than any coin.

* * *

_29 Guardian 9:35_

_Wounded Coast special patrol. Just me, Hawke and the usual band of rogues. Found a band of Evet’s men holed up near an old Qunari hideout. By the looks of things, they ARE planning to raid the next group of caravans. To the Void with them! We can’t let that happen._

_I don’t want to alert them to us, but Isabela and Varric put some traps down anyway. Small, natural things you could attribute to bad luck. Rockfalls, cave gas, trash and broken glass. Natural._

_Have picked squad already. Donnic also volunteered. I hope this works. I hope this all works._

_Varric kept his word. Got the ring yesterday. It is beautiful. Wish me luck, Wesley. Wherever you are._

* * *

“Listen, and well.” Sixteen guards stood upon the Coast with Aveline, Shey, Varric and Isabela—Donnic included. The night air was cool, but not bitingly so. It wouldn’t do for them to catch their captain shivering. “We may not catch Evet himself today. But we can strike the Marauders a blow, right here, if we play our cards right. Now spread out, and wait for the signal.”

“What’sthe signal?” a guardswoman asked.

“You’ll know it when you see it,” said Shey with the faintest glimmer of a smile. “Let’s go flush out these little blighters, shall we?”

The Champion melted into the gloom with practised ease, as did Varric and Isabela. Their footsteps faded as the guards stood ready, shields held before them.

“Aveline,” said Donnic right next to her shoulder. She turned to look at him. Really look. The dark and shadows carved his face into severe planes, but they could not touch his eyes: blunt, honest things with worry and courage and care shining out of them. “Be careful. I have your back, but…be careful. We…need to talk. Later, after this.”

“Always,” she murmured back. “We _do_ need to talk, and—”

A flash of light dazzled the guards then, seconds before a bang and a hideous scream split the air. Smoke billowed upward from a point some distance ahead, smelling of dwarven explosive and singed flesh.

“That’s Hawke’s signal, all right. For the guard!” she bellowed, charging down toward the flustered Marauders. Both sides fell upon each other savagely, and the battle was on. The air filled with the smells of magic both clean and unholy, and the other scents of battle the woman had come to know: blood, steel, the herbs of stamina and healing potions, the sharp sting of lyrium vapour.

She fought with unwavering strength, relentlessly carving through the Marauders. Shey flitted in and out of her line of sight, wreaking just enough havoc for the guards to pummel down their foes. Somewhere between all the hacking and slashing, she found herself back-to-back with Donnic. “Shields up!” he shouted as a few more stragglers hurtled toward them. They pushed outward, a whirling blur of blades and shields, defending each other as a single unit.

It felt right.

The last of the group fell at last with a gurgle, a bolt in his back and a hole in his lung. The Marauders were far from dead, but they would threaten no more caravans. Not for a while yet. A ragged cheer rose up from the guards as their victory sank in. It was a small win, by any measure, but against Evet’s boys, anything was significant. Aveline looked around at her guards: some new, some struggling, and a few she’d known since her first days in the barracks. One in particular still stood close to her, his eyes bright and his face stained with blood. She wanted to wipe it all off, see his face clean and whole. He looked terrible…and yet, somehow, never more alive. Judging by the look in his eye—and the pounding of her heart—she appeared much the same.

“Guardsman.”

She reached as casually as she could for the little leather pouch, skin-warm and damp with sweat and blood. This was it, then.

“Captain.”

_This really was it._

Aveline sucked in a deep breath. “Marry me,” she blurted out—at exactly the same instant Donnic did, producing a ring from a chain around his neck. A ring that very nearly matched hers.

Off to one side, Varric chuckled behind his glove.

It was she who regained her tongue first. “ _That_ was what you wanted to talk about?”

“Yes. I—well, look, I can’t promise not to get worried about you sometimes, because I do. But I trust your judgement. I always have. So if I think you’re in too deep…I’m still going to say so.” Donnic’s smile was somewhere between resignation and humour. “And then I’ll probably go along with you anyway.”

“I never wanted to fight behind somebody’s shield,” Aveline said, trying not to look away from Donnic. Not for too long. “I wanted to fight _beside_ someone, and W…what happened in the past doesn’t change that. You’re that person, Donnic.” The guards had gathered around the two now, openly staring or hiding it behind gore-spattered visors. They didn’t notice.

“So.” He fiddled with the ring in his gauntlet, turning it over and over, the tension in his eyes slowly making way for hope. “Are we, um, better now? _Do_ you want to get married?”

“The question now is: do we both want to get married?”

* * *

_30 Guardian 9:35_

_We said yes._

* * *

Aveline’s journal went unfilled for some time, but when she picked it up some weeks later, she found that somebody had beaten her to it.

Several somebodies.

_1 Drakonis 9:35_

_CONGRATULATIONS BIG GIRL! TUMBLE HIM SENSELESS  
_ _\- ISABELA_

 _Be happy.  
_ _Best,  
_ _Hawke_

_Just so you know, I’m inviting myself to your wedding. Somebody’s got to tell the story of how you got together. Also, don’t blame the guards. I helped Isabela put them up to it._

_V_

_P.S. - Those rings look good on you two! I got a good deal on that set._

_…I should have known they’d have a hand in this. Not that I’m not thankful, but…_

_Note to self: murder the whole bunch of them at our next Hanged Man night._


End file.
